Ripping Fastballs
by phoenixfire53
Summary: I used to think I was only good at playing hockey. I never realized I was good at pitching baseballs either - until now. Get ready, 'cause this girl and left arm are gonna blow you away. A modern take on the sandlot.
1. Early Morning

**Author's Note: **I couldn't help myself. I had to write a Sandlot fic. Anyway guys, here y'all go! :D

**Title: **Ripping Fastballs

**Summary: **I used to think I was only good at playing hockey. I never realized I was good at pitching baseballs, either – until now. Get ready, because this girl and her fastballs are gonna blow you away. A modern take on The Sandlot.

**Pairing: **Benny/OC. I was in the mood to toss my character in, and see what would happen between the two of 'em. This should be good.

**Rating: **It's T-rated. I can't do an M-rated story to save my life.

**Disclaimer: **I own…a piece of the Berlin Wall. Really. I don't own the Sandlot, or any of the original characters. Ah, Benny...XP

**All right! Let's get this show on the road, and let the fun begin! ENJOY! :)**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_7:00 AM, San Fernando Valley, California_

I woke up feeling warm little puffs of breath on my face, followed by the sliminess of a tongue lapping away at it. As soon as my brain registered what my face was feeling, my eyes flew open, and I bolted upright in my bed. My palms wiped away the drool covering most of my face with disgusted quickness.

Once the drool had been wiped away, I looked around my close-to-empty room to see if I could find whatever it was that had woken me up. I groaned when my eyes landed on a gray and white mass of fur with pointed ears and a lolled-out pink tongue.

"Ugh, son-of-a-bitch Crosby," I grumbled irritably as I swung my legs over one side of the bed, and pushed myself off. "I love you to pieces, but I honestly don't need you tongueing me at seven in the frickin' morning."

Crosby merely cocked his head to one side, and stared at me as I yanked a tank top on over my sports bra and girl boxers. He couldn't give a crap if I liked being dog-kissed awake. After all, he was a husky; all Crosby cared about was his hockey puck squeaky toy and getting a milkbone for sitting or heeling.

He whined when I started walking out of my room. I sighed, and waved him over. "I wasn't gonna leave you there, you bonehead." I scratched the space between his ears gently. "You're such a dumb, goofy dog sometimes."

I trudged into the kitchen, and was greeted by my mom. She had tied her dirty-blonde hair back into a neat ponytail, swiped on some concealer and mascara, and put on her green hospital scrubs. My mouth pulled to one side in confusion as I took in the polished, professional look my mom was sporting at the moment.

"Took you long enough to get your butt outta bed," she said without looking away from the crossword puzzle on the dinged-up kitchen table. "I was about to go in there and flip your mattress."

"Sorry to say, but Crosby beat ya to the wake-up call." I scuffed my bare feet against the kitchen's shiny wood floor. "So what's with the scrubs?"

"Well, they're the clothes I wear for my job."

"And your job is, what, exactly?"

Mom took a sip of her coffee. "I'm a doctor over at the local paediatrics center," she replied simply.

_Jesus, we've been here for only two days, and already the woman's found a job. _

"Well, that was quick. How the hell did you get a job so fast?"

"I took care of my application and interview before you and I left Boston," mom shrugged. "They told me my job started today. So there you have it." Her blunt gray eyes flicked down to the silver watch that she'd fastened around her thin left wrist. She cussed all of a sudden, dumped her coffee in the sink, and snatched her purse off the kitchen counter. "I'm gonna be late, so I've gotta go, Shane."

I watched and listened as mom dashed out the front door and told me to feed Crosby at twelve, get outside and explore my new neighborhood, and to call if I needed anything. Then, she sat in her little black Element, backed out of the driveway, and zipped off towards town.

I just stood in the middle of the house, looking at the front door for a few minutes. (Yeah, I'm a bit of a space cadet sometimes, but who isn't?) When I got my crap back together again, I sat down at the kitchen table with a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, and thought about what I was gonna do today.

The first thing I figured I'd do was practice my stickhandling and shooting on my hockey net. It had been a couple of days since I'd set up the net, put on my rollerblades, and taken my O stick out for a bit of an ass-kicking, so that was immediately at the top of Saturday's agenda.

The next thing I decided to do was make my ma happy and check out my neighborhood. She'd been stuck in some pretty frustrating b.s. before we'd moved out to the Valley. Not only had she divorced my dad, but she'd been uprooted from everything that she'd loved for the past fifteen years. So, I figured that poking around the place would perk her up a bit.

Once I'd taken care of my to-do list, I got busy. I changed out of my pajamas and into basketball shorts and my very most favorite Vans striped t-shirt, cleaned myself up, then went to the garage (which was about the size of a frickin' postage stamp) to grab my stuff. I was a bit peeved to find that the net, my stick, my rollerblades, and the rest of my hockey gear had been carelessly shoved in a corner.

_Grr, damn moving guys._

With a grumble, I strapped on my rollerblades, put my stick and street hockey ball on top of the net, and rolled it out into the empty street.

_All right Shane, let's take things nice n' slow. _

I started out with a skating check (like I said before, it had been a couple of days sinces I'd been in skates), which included skating forwards, backwards, left, right, front, and back crossovers, and hockey stops on both sides. I was fine on the blades after a minute or two of reaquainting myself with my skating style.

_Now for the fun part. _

I grabbed the stick and ball off the net, and dropped the ball on the asphalt. Then, I skated around for a bit, just stickhandling the ball and finding a comfortable rhythm I could work with. When I found that rhythm, I busted out every ounce of energy I had in me. I tore up and down the street with the ball literally clinging to the blade of the O stick, and sent it screaming into the net with either a slapshot, a wristshot, or a backhand shot. I smiled to myself; it felt really good to be on my blades and to be hacking away at my hockey stick.

"Hey! You're really good!" somebody shouted out to me all of a sudden.

I'd been pretty close when I'd picked that up. I'd also been skating backwards when I heard, so I had no idea that the guy was right behind me - until I turned around, and slammed into him. HARD.

We both flew backwards, and landed ass-first on the pavement. I was back up on my feet as quickly as I'd fallen; the other kid...well, he was still kinda' sprawled out in the middle of the street.

_Holy shit, did I knock him out?_

I wiped the sweat off my face, and skated over to the kid, hoping to god that I hadn't knocked him unconsious. Thankfully, he sat up with a dazed look on his face, then, like a dog trying to get rid of water on it's back, shook his head.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were standing behind me!"

"Nah, it's okay. I shouldn't have been standing right there in the first place." The kid slowly stood up, and dusted himself off. Then, he smiled and stuck his hand out. "I'm Scott Smalls."

I shook his hand. "Shane Feldbar."

His eyes (actually, the one eye that didn't have a shiner blooming around it...how the hell did he get that?) perked up. "You're the new girl that just moved here from Boston, right?"

"Yup, sure am. I'm the east-coast yankee," I beamed.

"Sweet! We're glad you're here!"

I frowned. "Who's we?"

"The guys in the neighborhood! We all heard about you, so we were waiting for you to actually get here," Scott explained with a puppy-dog expression on his freckle-covered face.

_Wow, I feel special. _

"So, you live in the yellow house?"

I looked over my back at my house, and groaned. "Yeah, I live in the piss-yellow house," I mumbled. "I swear to Christ, I'm seriously taking a paintbrush to it tomorrow." Out of slight boredom, I started skating circles around Scott. "How 'bout you, Scott? Where do you live?"

"Oh, I live in the house over there," he said as he pointed to a house the color of Pepto-Bismol that wasn't that far from mine. I was suddenly grateful that my new house wasn't bright pink. "I actually moved here a couple weeks ago."

"Nice." I changed direction with the skating. "So, what are you doing out at seven-thirty in the morning?"

"Waiting for Benny."

"Benny?" I repeated in a puzzled voice.

"Yeah, Benny. He lives right next to you," Scott said like it was common knowledge. "Speaking of, here he comes right now."

I stopped skating, turned around, and started scoping for Benny. For a moment, I didn't see anybody. Then, I looked to the left of my house, and everything changed.

I couldn't stop opening and closing my mouth like I was a fish as Benny walked over to where Scott and I were standing, baseball bat in one hand and two mitts in the other. This guy was freakin' CUTE; he had short, super dark brown hair that was currently hidden under a royal blue baseball hat, a tall, thin, yet muscular and athletic body, and dark amber eyes that me feel all dizzy inside. I started feeling weak in the knees as I took in all five feet and eight inches of him, from his once-white baseball jersey to his dusty black vintage PF's.

_Oh, holy HELL, he's hot! _

"Hey Smalls," Benny greeted Scott.

Scott's (aw, screw this, I'm calling him Smalls now) face lit up the moment Benny started talking. "Hey Benny! You ready to play some baseball?"

"Always am." His light brown eyes locked on me. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up as he said, "Who's your friend?"

I suddenly couldn't speak, I was so nervous. I really hadn't expected this insanely gorgeous guy to zero his attention in on me; now that he had, I had no idea what the hell I was gonna say or do. I'd become a statue against my own will.

_God, I must look like a retard. This is just wonderful. _

Lucky for me though, Smalls saw that I was on the verge of a total shut-down, so he gave me a serious help boost. "This is the new girl from Boston. She's your new neighbor," he grinned as he gestured to me.

_Smalls, you are a LIFESAVER. _

By now, I'd gotten my shit together and calmed down enough to act like a normal human being. I flashed a grin at Benny, and said, "Hi. I'm Shane Feldbar."

Benny frowned. "Ain't Shane a boy's name?"

I shrugged. "My parents were convinced I was a boy, so they named me Shane before I was born and they found out I was a girl," I smirked. "I honestly don't give a rip if I have a boy's name, though. Actually, I really like it."

"I can tell." Benny moved the wood bat to his left hand, and stuck the other out. "Benny Rodriguez."

I took his hand, and slowly shook it as I held his gaze. His eyes seemed to be assessing me, from my rollerblades, all the way up to my super-short, black-streaked, rust-red hair sitting on my skull. It was a strangely intense look; it sent shivers down my spine. Benny's hand suddenly felt extremely warm, like he'd stuck it in an oven before he came outside, and I pulled my hand out of his like it had just been electrocuted. We stared at each other for a long time.

Smalls coughed awkwardly after what felt like five minutes of staring at Benny. "We should get going, Benny. The other guys at the sandlot are gonna be wondering where we are."

"You can go, Smalls. I'll catch up later," Benny told him.

"But, what do I tell everyone when I get there?"

Benny tossed Smalls the bat. "Just tell 'em that I had to grab something from my house. They'll buy it, trust me."

Smalls shrugged, then ran off to where ever he and Benny were originally going. The both of us watched silently as he bolted down the street like his ass was on fire, one hand holding down his baseball hat, and the other gripping the bat Benny had given him.

When Smalls turned around a corner and disappeared from our sights, I started absent-mindedly skating in circles around Benny. "Soo..." I began. "Any particular reason a guy like yourself is up at almost eight in the morning, waltzing around the neighborhood with baseball gear?"

"I could ask you the same thing about the hockey gear."

"I'm a hockey player," I replied as I shot Benny a DUH look. "This game's been my entire life ever since I was four years old. I'd play hockey rain, shine, blizzard, hell, even hurricane." I braked to a complete standstill, and looked Benny directly in the eye. "Now tell me, Benny Rodriguez - what's your reason?"

I noticed Benny tense up a little. "I'm a baseball player. _This _has been my life since I was able to hold a frickin' bat in my hands." He then proceeded to send me his version of a DUH look. "I'd play baseball in the crappiest weather possible if I damn well felt like it."

_Touché._

"Does that answer your question?"

I shrugged. "One of 'em, yeah."

"One of 'em? How many questions do you plan on asking me?"

"Relax Benny. I just have two more questions, that's all."

He held his empty right hand, palm facing up, out. "Ask away," he sighed.

"'Kay then. How old are you?"

"How old am I?" he repeated incredulously. "You're seriously asking me how old I am?"

I held up my sweaty hands in protest. "Hey, cut me some slack, dude. I only wanna know if you're at least in my age group."

"FINE," Benny huffed. "I'm fifteen."

A mental version of myself did a happy little backflip at having discovered Benny and I were the same age. The real me grinned, and said, "Sweet, I'm fifteen, too."

He flashed me a small, quick smile. "So there's your second question answered."

"All right. My third question is...would you mind if I tagged along and watched you play for a bit?"

Right around here, Benny bit his bottom lip, and rubbed the back of his neck. "I dunno, Shane. That might not be such a good idea..."

"Oh, what?" I folded my arms across my chest. "You get nervous and play badly if a girl watches you? I'm really not THAT intimidating, am I?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that the other guys at the sandlot...well..." he trailed off.

"Get sorta' pissed when a girl comes along," I finished for him. "PUH-LEASE, I'm not gonna ask a zillion questions about what's going on. My dad taught me how to play WAY before I moved out here, so I'll be able to know what you guys are doing."

"All right, all right. You can come with me."

My face lit up. "Really?"

Benny nodded slowly. "Yeah, really." He jutted his thumb at my house. "Grab a pair of sneakers and something to cover your head, 'kay?"

"Yeah, just gimme a sec to bring my stuff back inside." I strode over to the net, tossed my O stick and ball on top, and started skating backwards with the posts grasped in my hands. I only moved a foot though, before Benny stopped me, came over, and balanced the top bar of the net on his broad shoulders.

"You go grab your stuff, Shane. I've got this."

I sent Benny a thank-you grin as I pulled my rollerblades off my feet. Then, I ran inside; stepped into my old pair of black Converse low-tops; grabbed my bright blue bandanna from the bathroom; and dumped some dog food in Crosby's bowl on my way back outside.

"Let's go, Feldbar. The other guys are gonna get pissed if I don't show up in about ten minutes."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'm going." I finished knotting my bandanna around my head. "Let's book."

We jogged out of the garage, and were about head down the street, when Benny stopped. He stopped moving just as I was starting to run faster, and I almost crashed into him.

"A little warning would be much appreciated next time, Benny," I said somewhat irritably.

"Sorry, I just almost forgot to ask you this. What hand do you write with?"

"My left hand, why?"

Benny immediately tossed me one of the mitts he was holding. I easily caught it, and stared at it for a moment. "Why the hell do I need a mitt if all I'm gonna be doing is watching you and your buddies play baseball at the sandlot?" I asked in a confused tone.

He only gave me a smirk that nearly made my legs go boneless on me. "You never know what'll happen, really." Benny started jogging again. "C'mon, just follow me."

I shoved my right hand in the mitt, then ran off with Benny to go watch him play some baseball at the sandlot.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**YAY! DONE WITH THE FIRST CHAPPIE! ENJOY GUYS! STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT ONE! :D**


	2. Give Them Blood and Baseballs

**Author's Note: **This is gonna be a blast! Enjoy, peoples! :D

**Disclaimer: **I own…an epic sudoku pencil. 'Tis the shiz!

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

We'd been running for about five minutes when I heard the sounds of kids shouting and music blasting from a radio floating over the trees of a different neighborhood. Benny had obviously heard too, because he started running faster and telling me to speed up. "We're almost there. Let's go."

He led me through a clump of scraggly bushes, through a hole in a wood fence, and into a dusty, grassless field filled with kids.

_Whoa. _

"Welcome to the sandlot, Shane," Benny said proudly.

I gawked at the scene laid out in front of me; there were kids - seven boys total, when you didn't count Benny - that were either tossing a baseball around to each other, or arguing over which station they should tune into on the radio. There were two boys arguing over the radio. One of them - a short kid with tan skin and dishwater-brown hair - wanted to keep the radio at the alternative station because the White Stripes' Seven Nation Army was playing; and the other kid - a short, chubby ginger with one HELL of an attitude - wanted to change to the oldies station because the DJ was playing the Beach Boys.

"The Beach Boys don't suck at all!" the ginger argued.

"Yeah yeah, they do, too! The White Stripes put those weenies to shame!"

The ginger, now obviously mad that the other kid had dissed the 60's band, tuned the radio in to the oldies station, and put his hands on his thick hips triumphantly. A cry of protest rose from some of the others, me included.

"Hey, put the Stripes back on!" I shouted to the ginger.

As soon as I'd spoken, everyone in the lot was dead silent. All seven heads whipped around, and focused in on me. I suddenly wished I hadn't said anything.

The ginger looked at Benny with an angry and gobsmacked expression on his freckle-covered face. "You bought a GIRL with you, Rodriguez?"

Benny shrugged casually. "She asked if she could come and watch."

"You shoulda' told her no!" the ginger snapped. "I mean, Yeah Yeah has a sister, and he says no when she asks if she can come along!" He threw his hands in the air dramatically. "GREAT, now we're gonna have to explain everything that happens during the game to her!"

"This is just WONDERFUL," a kid with enormous coke bottle glasses piped up. "Next thing you know, we're gonna be down a player, or some crap like that."

Benny glared at the two boys who were making a huge stink over my showing up. "You two done yet?"

"Aw, well that's just perfect!" Coke bottle glasses kicked at the dirt, and sent dust flying everywhere. "DeNunez ain't gonna show now!"

"Whaddaya mean DeNunez ain't gonna show now, Squints?"

"He just texted me and said he's got a stomach bug." 'Squints' shook his head. "He's not getting outta his house for a good three days now."

The ginger groaned, and stomped his foot. "Great, now what the hell are we gonna do if DeNunez is barfing his brains out in a metal bowl?"

"Whaddaya think, Ham? We get someone else to pitch for today," Benny told him exasperatedly. "Yeah Yeah, you feel like pitching?"

Yeah Yeah - the kid who wanted to keep Seven Nation Army playing on the radio - shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah yeah, sure. I'll pitch."

"All right, awesome!" Benny jogged over to home base, and picked up the wooden bat that was resting on the plate. "Show me what you've got, Yeah Yeah!"

Yeah Yeah stepped up to the pitcher's mound, and looked at the dusty baseball in his right hand, then at Benny with a nervous frown on his face. "Here goes."

He whipped the ball at Benny as hard as he could, and Benny slammed that baby sky-high with a loud CRACK!

I watched in wide-eyed awe as Benny started running to first base. His legs stretched out in front of him, and propelled his body forward from base to base with extraordinary speed.

_Jesus, look at him go. Benny's putting the freakin' hustle on. _

I whistled. "Kid's moving faster than a bullet from a damn gun."

Benny had made it to third base, and was about to head for home, when Squints caught the ball, and threw it to 'Ham' - the ginger - in an attempt to stop him. For a brief moment, I thought Ham was gonna tag Benny out. Then, the guy totally blew my mind away.

Benny started running back and fourth between third and home base, waiting for the moment when somebody would hesitate, then make a break for home. I watched his movements as Squints and Ham played what looked like a game of keep-away with the baseball; Benny would run towards home base, but would jam his feet into the dirt and run back to third as soon as Ham caught the ball from Squints, then he'd do the same routine when Squints had the ball.

I realized Benny was doing a dryland version of a hockey stop as he ran between the bases. _He moves like a hockey player. Now, where the hell did he learn to move like that?_

After a couple of seconds, Squints caught the ball, and took a millisecond breather.

BIG mistake on his part.

Benny bolted for home, and ran across the plate just as Ham lunged forward to tag him out. He was too late though; Benny had made it home safe.

_Holy frickin' SHIT, this guy's amazing! _

"Damn Rodriguez, that was insane! I had no idea you were so good at the game!"

He just smiled at me as he picked up the bat, and stood over home plate. "Okay Yeah Yeah, throw me another one!"

Yeah Yeah looked at Benny, and shook his head. "No way, man. I think I strained my arm on that last throw." He gripped his right arm, and grimaced slightly from the soreness. "Sorry, Benny."

"Fine then, don't pitch." Benny started scanning the field. "Anybody else wanna pitch?"

The other six kids were silent, and stared cow-eyed at Benny.

Benny groaned in frustration. "C'mon guys, can't _somebody _pitch?"

The others shook their heads. Nobody else wanted to pitch.

Then, Benny looked at me. "Hey Shane, can you throw a ball?"

_Oh, you've GOT to be kidding me. HE wants me to pitch?_

"Yeah." I looked up at him, and my jaw dropped to the ground. "Wait, YOU'RE asking me to pitch for you guys?"

"Sure."

Ham snorted. "You're joking, right Benny? You're seriously asking a girl to pitch for us?"

"Did you not just hear me, Ham? Yes, I'm asking a girl to pitch for us. You have a problem with that?"

Everybody on the field - excluding Benny and Smalls - started laughing, with Ham being the loudest. "That's real funny, Benny. You're actually asking a puny _girl _to throw baseballs for us." He looked at me, and sent a jeering guffaw in my direction. "She probably can't throw a ball to save her life. Who wants to bet she's a weak whiner, too?"

Okay, I'd been pretty in control of my emotions for most of Ham's arrogent ranting; but the moment that the carrot-top, fucking butterball had dared to call me a weak whiner, any common sense and grip I'd had on my anger totally evaporated. I spat on the ground fiercely and jammed my right hand into Benny's baseball mitt, my eyes seeing nothing but red as I stalked over to Ham.

"You have a helluva nerve calling me a weak whiner, you stupid little porker," I seethed. "I _can _throw a ball, and if you're dumb enough to not believe me, then I'll fucking prove you WRONG."

"You don't have to, Shane," Smalls said in an attempt to stop me from unleashing my wrath on Ham. "I believe you can throw."

"Quit bein' a kiss-ass, Smalls." Ham took off his catcher's gear, tossed it to Benny, and told him to put it on. Then, he took the bat, and stood over home plate with an overconfident, cocky air surrounding his doughy body. "All right, drama queen. If you say you can pitch, then throw the ball as hard as you can and try to strike me out. I DARE YOU TO."

An inkling of doubt passed through me at the thought of throwing a baseball as hard as humanly possible. I didn't doubt that I could do it; I'd tossed around my fair share of baseballs with my dad back when I lived in Boston. I did, however, doubt that I could throw the ball with every ounce of power in me without hurting someone.

"Let's go, princess. I don't have all day."

I couldn't. The last time I'd really pitched a baseball as hard as I could, I'd put so much power into my throw that I managed to bruise the catcher's hand pretty badly, even with the mitt on.

Ham snickered. "Well, would you look at that. The girl's chickening out." He sneered at me. "See guys? I told you she was a weak whiner."

That one sentence changed everything for me. I slowly looked up from the baseball sitting in the mitt, to Ham with deadly calmness. "NO, I'm not."

"Prove it, then."

_Oh, believe me, I will. _

I sucked down a shaky breath of air to calm me down. When the deep breathing didn't work, I started singing to myself. My brain quickly decided that My Chemical Romance's Blood would do me some good, so I began to softly mumble the lyrics as I dumped the ball into my left hand.

_Well, they encourage your complete cooperation,  
Send you roses when they think you need to smile..._

I gripped the ball tightly in my hand, and spaced my fingers apart a little.

_I can't control myself because I don't know how,  
And they love me for it, honestly, I'll be here for a while..._

I whipped that baseball with as much power I could gather up at Benny's open hand, and it smacked into the glove's thick leather with an explosive POP!

"Strike one!" Benny called out.

Ham scowled. "She got lucky that time. I'll bet you anything that she can't do that again."

He spoke too quickly. I wound up for another pitch.

_So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff,  
Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough  
So give them blood, blood, blood..._

I threw a curveball, and like I'd expected him to, Benny closed Ham's catcher's mitt around the baseball.

"Strike two!"

I splayed my fingers apart before I threw a sinker. Benny easily caught the ball, and yelled out, "Strike three!"

_Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood!_

Angrily, Ham threw the bat down on the ground. "Big deal! So she struck me out! She probably can't strike anybody else out!"

"Try me!" I shouted at Ham.

"Okay then! Strike out Benny, and you get to be our new pitcher!" Ham snickered before he finished with, "Good luck with that, though! Nobody's ever struck Benny out!"

"Ham, you retard! What are you doing!" Benny hissed.

Ham shrugged carelessly. "Hey, the chick's putting her money where her mouth is. I say let her."

I sighed. "C'mon Benny, let's just get this over with!"

Benny glared darkly at Ham as he ripped the catcher's gear off. He shook his head as he grabbed the wooden bat off the ground. Meanwhile, I kept singing to myself.

_A celebrated man amongst the gurneys..._

"Give it to me, Shane!"

_They can fix me proper with a bit of luck..._

I sent a fastball screaming towards Ham's mitt. It crashed into the mitt just as Benny took a swing at it.

"Strike one!" Ham announced with distaste in his voice.

_The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so,  
But it's really quite alarming, 'cause I'm such an awful fuck...  
I gave you blood, blood, gallons of the stuff,  
I gave you all that you can drink and it has never been enough_

I pitched another curveball, and again, Ham caught it as Benny swung the bat.

_I gave you blood, blood, blood..._

"Strike two!"

By now, the other guys were whistling and and shouting. I think I heard Squints say, "That chick's gonna strike out Benny! Holy crap!"

I couldn't wait anymore. I wound up for my one last pitch - a slider.

"I'M...THE...KINDA' HUMAN WRECKAGE THAT YA LOVE!" I sang loudly as I threw the ball.

There was a whooshing sound as Benny tried to hit the ball, followed by a POP as Ham caught it with his glove.

Nobody made a sound as Ham looked at the baseball in his glove, then at me. His eyes had widened to the size of teacup saucers, he was so shocked. "I don't believe it," he squeaked. "You actually struck out Benny. That's never happened."

I wiped away the beads of sweat that had dewed on my forehead, and breathed deeply. "Too bad," I rasped tiredly. "It just did."

Ham was silent for a long time. Assuming that that meant he was too peeved at me and my left arm to say anything, I turned around, and walked away from the pitcher's mound to head home. Just as I was about to pass through the hole in the fence, I felt somebody grab my hand and pull me back into the sandlot. When I turned around to see who it was, I saw Benny. My heart rate kicked up a couple notches as soon as I looked into his light brown eyes.

"Hey, Ham _did _say that if you struck me out, then you could pitch for us. Well, you struck me out."

I blinked a couple times, then smiled softly. "Next time, make sure Ham tells me if I'm part of your team or not, 'kay?"

"I'll assume that you're saying you'll pitch for us."

"Yes, BUT, there's one condition." I punched the palm of the mitt. "I keep pitching after your other pitcher shows up again."

"Deal."

I grinned, and punched the mitt again. "Let's play some baseball."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**SHE'S DONE IT NOW! SHANE CAN PITCH LIKE A BADASS! XD ENJOY GUYS, AND STAY TUNED FOR CHAPTER THREE! :D**


	3. Headlocks and Harriers

**Author's Note: **SHA-WING! CHAPTER 3 IS HERE! XD

**Disclaimer: **I own...an epic ear ring, literally. You loop it around the cartilage part of your ear. :D

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was six in the evening when we all split up and went our separate ways for the rest of the day. By the time we'd all stopped playing, I'd 1. met everyone on the team, excluding DeNunez (the others were Hamilton 'Ham' Porter, Michael 'Squints' Palledorous, Bertram Weeks, Timmy and Tommy 'Repeat' Timmons, and Alan 'Yeah Yeah' McClennan); 2. ripped a few fastballs past Benny; and 3. managed to throw my left arm out of it's damn socket, or at least it felt like I had. I was complaining about it for the entire walk back to our neighborhood with Smalls and Benny.

"Son-of-a-bitch, how the hell does your other pitcher deal with the soreness after he plays?" I crabbed as we walked down the street, me holding my shoulder in something close to a death-grip.

"I wouldn't know," Smalls said. "I've never pitched before."

"You're a whole lotta help, Smalls." I rubbed my shoulder, and looked over at Benny. "How 'bout you? You have any tips or suggestions, Benny?"

"I wouldn't know, either." He shrugged. "Sorry, Shane." Benny absent-mindedly started swinging his baseball bat back and forth with his right hand as we continued to walk down the street. "Actually, this may or may not help out your shoulder, I don't really know, but try using a little heat therapy on it."

Smalls nodded in agreement. "Yeah, my mom says that a hot shower is really good for getting rid of soreness."

"That usually only works for muscle soreness," I half-frowned.

"No, trust me, it works for the other stuff. I know from experience."

I shot Smalls an are-you-serious? look. "What the hell did you do?"

"Ah, I was dumb enough to help a kid from my old school bring his bass drums over for a marching band thing. I couldn't feel my shoulders the next day, they were so sore."

I stuck my tongue out at Smalls. "Way to go, genius," I congratulated him teasingly.

"Whatever. Give it a shot." Smalls broke away from me and Benny when we were in our area of the neighborhood, and headed for his pepto-pink house with as much energy as a kid with a sugar high. "I'll catch you guys later!"

"Eight o' clock at the sandlot tomorrow, Smalls!" Benny yelled out to him just as he went through the doorframe and disappeared for the night.

Once Smalls was gone, Benny turned to me with a smirk on his face. "So Shane, what did you think?"

"Of the sandlot?"

Benny nodded silently, and patiently waited for me to say something.

"I thought it was awesome," I chirped. "I've seriously never seen anything as badass as that field." I paused for a brief moment. "Oh, and as far as the game goes, I had a blast. Thanks a lot for the pitching opportunity."

"Anytime."

By now, the sun had started to dip behind the trees, and the moon was becoming more and more visible with each passing minute. Benny and I were also in front of our houses, staring at each other like we were the only ones that existed in the world. Well, until the porch lights at my house went on, and mom sauntered outside with her hands on her hips. Then, it was back to being in the real world with all these other people.

She pursed her lips. "You were having some fun with your new neighborhood, huh Shane?"

"You could say that."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked in a tone that moms use when they think their kids have been up to no good. She looked at me from head to toe, one thin dirt-blonde eyebrow rising higher as she took in the redness in my face and the thick coat of dust covering my shoes. "What in the hell were you doing?"

"Playing some baseball," I said.

"_You _were playing baseball. Okay...what position?"

"Pitcher."

Mom's gray eyes bulged slightly. "_Pitcher? _You were actually _pitching, _Shane?"

I nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. I was pitching, ma."

"Jesus, I didn't even know you could do that."

"Neither did most of the guys," Benny suddenly piped in after nearly two minutes of being quiet and listening to me and mom. "They thought that Shane couldn't pitch to save her life. Then she got on the mound and started whipping all these different throws at us. It was freakin' amazing."

Mom's head practically pulled off a 180 as soon as Benny had spoken. Her eyes immediately widened at the sight of him. "Shane, who's this?" she asked in a whisper-like voice.

"This is Benny Rodriguez, ma. He lives next door to us." I looked from mom to Benny, and pointed to her. "Benny, this would be my mom."

Names were exchanged quickly, then it was back to the previous topic of today's baseball game at the sandlot. Mom held her chin as she asked Benny all these questions about how we played, giving her this ponderous look. To be honest, I think the whole chin-holding thing was her way of showing that she wasn't sure whether to believe what she was being told or not. I hoped that she believed what she was hearing. She'd better believe it, otherwise I was going to have to prove to her that I could, in fact, throw baseballs like a pro...I was SO not in the mood to do that at the moment.

"So, how exactly did Shane start pitching for your team?" mom asked at one point in the conversation.

"Well, our other pitcher, Kenny DeNunez, got sick, so he couldn't show up to play. At first, I got one of the other kids in our group to pitch for us, but he kinda' messed up his arm on the first pitch. After that, nobody else wanted to throw the ball, so I asked Shane if she could throw decently, and she said she could. From then on...well, you get the basic idea of what happened afterwards," Benny explained. "All I'm gonna say is that Shane's a GOD with a baseball. She's the best chick pitcher I've ever seen."

I blushed when Benny said I was the best pitcher he'd ever seen. Thankfully, the bigass flush on my face covered up the blush. I would've been mortified if he'd seen that.

"Alright, I gotta go. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Feldbar." He waved to us before he went inside his house. "See ya tomorrow, Shane."

I suddenly remembered the mitt I was holding in my right hand. "Benny!" I shouted.

He poked his head out the front door. I held up the mitt for him to see.

"Your mitt!"

He shook his head. "Nah, keep it. You need it more than I do."

I grinned at this. "Thanks a lot, Benny!"

"No prob. See ya later." Then, he disappeared back inside.

As soon as he was gone, mom and I headed back inside. She gave me this sly, impish look as she shut the door and walked into the kitchen. I instantly had a bad feeling about what she was gonna say or do now.

"So...your friend there, Benny...what do you think of him?" she asked me as she removed take-out cartons from one of three plastic bags on the kitchen counter.

"He's a really nice guy. I know that it doesn't sound right for me to be saying this, considering we just moved here yesterday, but I really like him. Benny's a good kid."

Mom took out two plates and some silverware, and placed them on the table. "Is that all you have to say, Shane?"

"What the frick is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I assumed that you'd have more to say...I'm sorta' surprised that you haven't said anything about his looks-"

"MA!" I squawked.

Mom just shrugged like she'd done nothing wrong. "What? He's a good-lookin' boy."

"I JUST MET HIM!"

"So? You _are _allowed to think he's cute." She smirked at me before she dumped sesame chicken and stir-fried string beans on our plates. "C'mon Shane, admit it. That's reasonable, no?"

"You are EVIL," I said through my teeth.

"I'm your mother," she laughed. "I'm supposed to embarrass you."

I sat down at the table, and started shoveling sesame chicken into my mouth hungrily (What? The last thing I ate was a bowl of Cocoa Puffs early in the morning). "Yeah, well thank god you never do that sorta' thing out in public. I swear, if you ever embarrassed me out in public, I'd probably slap some duct tape on you the moment we got home." I swallowed the last of the Chinese food on my plate, then placed it in the sink before heading off to ease the soreness in my left arm. "I'm gonna go shower, 'kay?"

"Don't use up all the hot water."

I went to my room, which was now almost-boxless and organized (thank ya, ma!), and grabbed some sweats and a tank top to change into after I showered. Then, I turned on the water in the bathroom, and stepped in the shower, sighing happily as the water splashed against my back. I rolled my shoulder, and found that the water was easing away the soreness and aching pain from whipping around baseballs all day. Smalls was right; hot showers really did work for getting rid of soreness. I was gonna have to thank him for that tomorrow.

After about seven minutes, I figured I was pruny enough, so I got out, dried off, and changed into the sweats and white tank top with little blue skulls peppering it. Then, I went straight to my room, and cued up the XBOX360 and little flat-screen mom had set up in the far corner. Yes, I'm a chick gamer. GET OVER IT.

I'd popped in Modern Warfare 2 and sat down in my gaming chair, when I saw something move by one of the windows of Benny's house - the one that was directly across from my window. I stood up, threw open the window, and stuck my head outside into the cool night air.

The other window was wide open, and it revealed the slightly messy insides of somebody's bedroom. I spent nearly a minute trying to figure out whose room it was before my eyes fell on the posters adorning the walls. They were all ginormous pictures of baseball players, some current, others old-timers. Most of the posters featured Babe Ruth standing over home plate, hands gripping a Louisville Slugger bat tightly, face scrunched up in concentration.

With a muffled squeak, I realized my room was sitting directly across from Benny's. I also realized that either one of us could slip out our window and through the other's whenever we damn well felt like it. My skin was growing hot as all these details slammed head-first into me like a mag-lev.

_I am literally right next to Benny. Holy crap._

A split-second after that thought passed through my head, Benny walked into his room, wearing nothing but a pair of plaid flannel pants. It took every ounce of self-control I had to keep me from squealing like a full-blown girly-girl at the sight of a shirtless Benny Rodriguez.

_Oh, good lord! _

I had no idea that I'd been leaning out my window to get a closer look at Benny (and his abs), until I fell outside with a cry of "Shit!" I practically did a somersault, and landed on my back pretty frickin' hard. "Ow," I grimaced loudly.

That was enough to grab Benny's attention. He poked his head out through the window, and looked down at me with a question mark expression. I, trying my best to feign casualness, grinned. "Hi."

Benny bit his lip. "Hi." He quickly grabbed something off to the side, and pulled it over his head - a thin wife beater that accentuated the muscles in his abdomen. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I figured out that your room's directly across from mine, and...I got curious. I leaned outta my window as far as I could go so I could get a glimpse of inside, and...well, you already know the rest."

Benny suddenly started laughing so hard that he was gasping for air in a matter of seconds. "That just totally made my day!"

I sprang up. "Glad it did." I bent over backwards until I heard my spine crack. "Oh man, that feels good."

"I'm not asking any questions." He motioned inside his room. "Come in."

Mental me had a complete spaz attack; this was the sort of thing that only happened in my dreams, or, at least it only happened that way before. I gladly pulled myself through Benny's bedroom window, and landed on the hardwood floor with a low thud. As soon as I was in, I leaned back against the wall, while Benny lay down on his bed with his hands behind his head.

"So how's the shoulder doing?"

"It's actually doing pretty good right now." I rolled my left shoulder as proof. "Smalls was right about the whole hot shower thing."

"The kid's a brain, whaddaya expect?"

I nodded, then silently panned the room. Benny's room pretty much mirrored mine in layout and appearance, with the only difference being the poster subjects; while his posters all had people like Babe Ruth and the dread Manny Ramirez and a bunch of other baseball players, the stuff I was gonna tack up sooner or later on my walls had guys like Alex Ovechkin, Bobby Orr, Sidney Crosby (whom my dog is named after), and Zdeno Chara either in action or standing over a hockey puck with an I'm-gonna-kick-your-ass look on their faces. Other than that, mine and Benny's rooms looked like a twinset.

"Sooo...what were you doing before I came along?" I asked in an attempt to get another conversation going.

Benny shrugged. "Eh, I was just sitting around, doing a whole lotta nothing, really." He groaned. "I'm so damn bored right now! I seriously have nothing to do!"

I suddenly remembered that I'd left the TV and XBOX on in my room when I cartwheeled out my window. My mouth stretched into a grin as I realized that inviting Benny over to play a little Call of Duty was probably the best idea to pop into my head all night. "You play XBOX, Rodriguez?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you feel like playing some MW2 right now? It'll spare you from having to deal with the boredom."

Benny's face lit up, and he now looked like a little kid that had been turned loose in a candy shop. "Are you kidding? I'd freakin' love to!" he exclaimed as he rolled off his bed.

_Woo yeah! Point for Shane!_

I slid out through the window, and Benny followed suit. Then, we passed through my window, and into my room, where we found Crosby lying on my bed with a glum sheen in his big eyes. As soon as my feet hit the floor though, Crosby leapt off the bed, and stood in front of me, his bushy tail wagging exstatically at the sight of me.

"Someone's happy to see you," Benny said once he'd slid through my window.

I half-smiled. "This would be Crosby. He's a big ole' dumbass of a dog, but I love him." I scratched the dog in between his ears. "You can pet him, if you want."

"Does he bite?"

"Nah, Crosby's too big of a softie to bite anyone. He may be named after one of the most kick-ass Canadian hockey players in the NHL, but he doesn't act like a kick-ass dog." I chuckled. "I actually think that his name shoulda' been Benji or something cute like that."

"Oh well." Benny reached out, and rubbed Crosby on the back gently. Crosby, like the dumb, lovable husky he was, wagged his tail and chuffed happily. "Crosby still works."

I smiled faintly. "Yeah, it does...so, you ready for some COD-MOD?" I asked Benny smugly.

Benny wordlessly plucked out a controller from under the TV, and cued it up with a cocky look on his face. "Get ready for an ass-whoopin', Feldbar."

"You wish. You're going down like free beer at a frat party, Rodriguez," I shot back.

The game started up, and we proceeded to run around on Rust with MP5's, Akimbos, and Thumpers until we ran into each other; when that happened, all hell broke loose as we tried to take each other down. Like I always did when I played Modern Warfare with a buddy, I fared better than Benny in most of the fights. He was able to get me at times, and when he did take me down with his Akimbo, the kid practically danced where he was sitting, he was so jazzed.

I play-scowled at Benny when he'd killed me enough times to earn himself a Pave-low. "Damn kid, you're quick."

"Surprised?" Benny grinned as his Pave-low gunned down my guy.

"Not really." I shot him a couple times, and finally racked up enough kills to earn myself an AC-130. I snickered as I let loose the spooky, and watched as it peppered Benny's guy with bullets or blew his ass to kingdom come with a howitzer round or two.

"Aw, damn you and your AC-130, Shane."

"Hey, this is payback for unleashing your Pave-low on me."

"You shot it down before I even had the chance to have some fun with it!" Benny argued as he tried - and failed - to dodge the bullets and howitzer rounds raining down on him.

"Duh, what else was I gonna do, roll over and let you play TV commando?" I shook my head. "Not a chance, Benny." I had enough kills to call in a Harrier strike, so I did. Within a second, Benny's guy was mercilessly blown to hell, and then the round ended, me with 500 round points and Benny with 350 round points.

I looked at Benny gleefully. "See? Told ya so. You DID go down like free beer at a frat party."

Benny stuck his tongue out at me. "I did this time, but I won't the next." He then proceeded to knee me in the back until I turned around and smacked him. In return, he dove down, and put me in a headlock before my brain even had time to register what was going on.

"Hey! I hope ya know that the whole you going down like beer at a frat party thing is still out there!" I said as I struggled to wrench myself away from Benny's sort-of possessive hold.

I felt his biceps tense up as he tightened the headlock. "Please. There's no way you're gonna get out of this sucker, Feldbar." Benny then repositioned himself, and stooped his body over mine so I couldn't try anything funny and break free from him.

Alright, I'll be honest with everyone - I didn't mind the fact that I was in a headlock. Actually, I liked that a kid like Benny Rodriguez had put on the moves and totally immobilized me. Having his body hunched over mine was a comforting feeling; it's weird to say, yes, but I really did like it. Being close to Benny or Benny being close to me, whatever way you pick to look at it, made me feel at ease and relaxed, which I doubt is normal to feel a day after moving to a new state and neighborhood, but whatever. I felt happy and comfortable with Benny in the room at the moment.

"Aha! Shane's given up finally!" Benny cheered before he relaxed his hold on me.

_Ooh Benny, not a smart move. _

I seized my moment; I stepped behind Benny, and kicked his legs out from underneath, hoping he'd let go and let me put him in a headlock. Sadly though, things didn't play out the way I'd pictured in my head. My feet slipped on the floor and flew out in front of me as I kicked out Benny's legs, and we both went down. My back slammed against the floor as Benny fell on me with a muffled "Oomph!"

I immediately started flailing my arms and tried to unpin myself from under Benny. "Benny! Benny! Can't breathe!" I gasped with difficulty.

"Oh Jesus! Sorry!" He rolled off and to the left, then crouched beside me. "You okay Shane?"

"No," I groaned. "I didn't plan for that to happen."

"What, the headlock fail, or getting the wind knocked outta you?"

"Both." I slowly sat up, wincing sharply at the pain radiating from my back and chest. Not for nothing, but having Benny fall on top of me like that was like somebody drop a one hundred-pound cinderblock on my chest cavity. Yeah, it hurt THAT bad.

"GOD, that sucked."

"You get used to it after a while." Benny held his hand out to help me up, and I gladly took it. "Trust me on that."

"Yeah, I'll assume that you know what you're talking about," I smiled slightly.

All of a sudden, there was somebody knocking on my door. My heart started pounding when I realized it was my mom. I panicked.

"My ma's gonna come in any second now! You gotta go, Benny!" I hissed frantically as I started pushing him towards my open window.

"Shane? Can I come in?" I heard mom ask on the other side of my door.

"Just a sec!" I quickly shoved Benny through my window. "Just go! I'll see you tomorrow at the sandlot!"

Benny nodded as he ran across to his window, and slid through. "Eight o' clock!" he stage-whispered to me. "See you later, Shane!"

I waved, shut my window, and turned off the XBOX and TV. Then, I took a breath, and opened the door to mom, who was in a pair of Donnelly's boxers, a white t-shirt, and her favorite fuzzy white bathrobe over it.

She smiled at me tiredly. "Hey honey, how are you?"

"Decent." I tilted my head to the side. "You going to bed?"

"Yeah...need to get some rest before I go to work tomorrow."

"All right, well g'night then," I said awkwardly.

Mom reached out and kissed me on the forehead. "Good night Shane, see you in the morning." Then, she padded off to her room, Crosby tailgating it behind her.

As soon as mom was gone, I shut off the lights in my room, and flopped on my bed tiredly. I looked at the alarm clock sitting on the stand beside my bed - 11 PM, it read. I groaned sleepily, and shut my eyes. For the rest of the night, I dreamed of Pave-lows, baseball, and Benny.

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**FINISHED! :D ENJOY GUYS, AND STAY POSTED FOR CHAPTER 4! :D :D :D**


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